


The Fool

by Lightsabre3



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Death, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Intrigue, Magic, Plot, Polyamory, really hate doing tags, sex and stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:33:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29189355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightsabre3/pseuds/Lightsabre3
Summary: Marjan Ogunjinmi has always enjoyed a simple life, only occasionally -and briefly- wanting more than what her small, sea-side village has to offer. That is until the red enveloped letter arrives, its pages smelling of jasmine.
Relationships: Apprentice/Asra (The Arcana), Apprentice/Asra/Julian Devorak, Apprentice/Julian Devorak, Muriel (The Arcana)/Original Character(s), Portia Devorak/Nadia
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. Uncanny Feeling

Marjan Ogunjinmi enjoys the simple things in life.

She has her garden; a simple house, clinging to a cliffside, that she shares with her unbelievably understanding mother and father. She has a good friend who visits her from time-to-time, and the brisk, sea breeze greets her every morning when she wakes.

She enjoys her chores, the simplicity and familiarity, and walks along the snaking paths trailing throughout her home village of Kairi. When the days are hot, she relishes in a dip in the ocean. When swimming isn’t quite what she wants, she lies in the vast fields of wildflowers just outside of Kairi or on the highest cliff she can find.

Marjan loves her father’s beef curry and the aloe vera juice her mother makes for her –freshly squeezed from plants grown in her garden. She adores it when they settle down after dinner, sitting together in the kitchen/living/dining room to enjoy one another’s company before the fireplace.

To some, her life might seem boring and small, but it is more than enough for Marjan, and she knows she is luckier than most to have what she does.

Even as she hangs the day’s wash out to dry –a task she has performed hundreds of times– she is content, singing along to the tune her mother croons in their native tongue. Her smooth, dulcet voice reaches her through the open windows and doors of their little, brick house, its stone so riddled with wisteria it appears purple and fuzzy from far away.

_“Down, down, the waters sweep me, leading me to the old and overgrown._

_I should fear it, but wildness is all I have ever known._

_There is comfort in not knowing._

_I want to see where the river flows._

_If I were to fight it, I would never know.”_

The plants around Marjan react to her voice. She feels it as they quiver in joy with each word, soaking in the song. The sunflowers she seeded the day before burst from their deep planter, fully grown in mere moments. They push against her head, nuzzling her and bidding her to sing more. And the passionflowers growing along the terrace railing creep further and further. Too far and they’ll encroach upon Miss Udan’s neat and tidy house, and she’ll have words for the magician and her “naughty, naughty flowers”.

And Marjan will accept responsibility. It is her fault the garden grows so wild after all –it is her magical outlet, the space she pours most of her time and energy into. The greenery does not like being confined to one cliffside, to one measly terrace.

“Marjan! Marjan, is that you singing up there?”

The voice is familiar, welcome. It pulls Marjan away from her laundry, bringing her to the terrace’s edge where she peers over the railing to see Javie standing in the middle of the worn, stone path leading up to her house. They squint up at her; one hand raised to stave off the sun while the other clutches at the strap of the bag resting on their hip.

Javie –red-haired, green-eyed, and dressed in a mess of colours– is the magician’s closest friend in Kairi. They bring her stories of their travels along the coast, and often they walk about the village together or enjoy quiet nights with steaming cups of tea in hand.

She smiles brightly at the courier, happy to see them, and prepares to leap over the railing to get at them. “Javie! Back from Andesh already?”

“Clearly,” they say, voice dry as a bone as they take a few steps back. “If you’re going to jump, do it already. You make me nervous.”

Marjan sticks her tongue out, vaulting over and floating gently to the ground with the help of her magic. Once her feet are properly on the ground, Javie pulls her in for a hug, and she reciprocates in full. They’re as lean as ever in her arms, and not for the first time, she wonders how someone so tiny can be an adventurer.

“You bring me anything interesting?” she asks once they part.

“Tales of djinn and a letter for Senna,” Javie reveals, a smile quirking their lips as they pull a red envelope from their satchel. They hold it out to her. “Didn’t know she had friends in Vesuvia.”

The magician’s brows draw curiously together. “Neither did I…” She looks from the letter to the courier, making a disapproving face. “What are you doing reading our mail?”

“I did not!” they assert, face flushing. “The address is written on the front plain as day!”

The magician smiles playfully, taking the letter and tucking it away in her blouse. “Teasing, Javie. I know you would never.”

They roll their emerald eyes, lips fighting a grin. “I _am_ a professional. …Now, how are your parents? Keeping well?”

“Most certainly. Father’s still woodworking, and mother’s still keeping the whole cliffside fed.”

“And yourself?”

“Splendid. My sunflowers just came in.”

“Still no hankering to run off like the other Ogunjinmi children?”

The magician dips her head. “I’m fine here, and one of us has to keep eyes on Senna and Bassam. They’re likely to get in trouble.”

Marjan is the youngest of nine children –eighteen and the oldest, Ilhan, is in his forties– and is the only one living at home. The rest are scattered across the world, indulging their wanderlust and only occasionally popping up at home –and never for very long. Marjan is the only one of them not to have meandered off.

She does think about it sometimes but never for very long. It’s a rain cloud passing through: there one moment and gone the next. Like sometimes she wants to shave her head, but she’s never actually gone and done it.

And her parents need her. They are still healthy and active, but they grow older every day. Bassam is nearly in his seventies, and Senna recently turned sixty-four. New aches arise. It is harder to get out of bed. Her father’s bad knee seems to bother him more and more, and her mother complains of joint pain when it storms. They keep Marjan firmly rooted in Kairi.

“If they ever give you a break, you could come with me to Andesh –see the big city for yourself,” Javie offers. “You’d like it there. It’s as eaten up with flowers as your house.”

The magician’s smile softens at the simple kindness, and though she aches to take them up on it, she’s too full of worry. Javie’s trips last for weeks, and she’s never been away from her parents for more than a day or two.

“Tempting, very tempting,” she says. “Keep asking, and one day, I’ll take you up on it.”

They tilt their head. “I’ll hold you to it. …Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a few more letters to drop off before I drop from exhaustion. Ah, and should I stop by once I’m awake for stories and tea?”

Marjan nods furiously. “Obviously.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow,” they say by way of bidding her farewell.

The magician steps from their path, nodding shortly. “Sweet dreams, Javie.”

They wave over their shoulder as they wander down the path, disappearing around a bend. Marjan stares after the courier –even though she cannot see them or hear their footsteps any longer– imagining their life. What it would be like to travel the coast, delivering parcels and dealing with whatever weirdness wanders onto the path. Surely it is exciting, and then suddenly so mundane, jarring to go from the road and big cities to quiet Kairi; warm and peaceful.

Maybe that’s why they can’t bear to stay in Kairi for more than a week or two. It’s not lively enough for them. …Would Marjan come to feel the same way if she ever went off and experienced some adventure and abrasion?

She doesn’t dwell on it for too long. Her mother’s sweet voice reaches her, dragging her attention to the house eaten up by plants and bidding her to come help peel potatoes.

* * *

It is well after dinner when Marjan remembers the letter Javie dropped off, and only because the red envelope slips from her blouse to the ground when she strips off her clothes to wash off the sweat of the day.

She stares at the parchment for a long moment, something about its existence stirring up her blood, exciting her heart. Maybe it’s the colour –someone extravagant sends letters in red envelopes, she’s certain of it– or the fact her mother appears to know someone in Vesuvia: a place which seems realms away to Marjan but is only a week or two away by boat. All she knows for certain is it is new; it is out of the norm.

As the magician plucks it up, she has this uncanny feeling that whatever is within will change her life. And such a premonition manages to thrill and scare her within the same heartbeat.

Marjan calms down with a proper rinsing and scrubbing with lavender-scented soap, and then she dresses in a soft, hand-sewn nightgown her mother made for her. She takes a moment to brush out her long, waving hair of pure ebon and another moment more to gently rub witch hazel and aloe into freckled skin like burnt umber. Then she breezes into the living area where her mother and father sit; Senna in her high-backed, rocking chair and Bassam kicked back on a faded chaise embroidered with lilies. She presents the red letter, apologizing for her forgetfulness.

Senna waves the apology away as she takes the letter into her hands, and instantly, a bright smile comes to grace her lips. “It is from your aunt,” her mother tells her, thin fingers slipping beneath the envelope’s free edge and opening it effortlessly.

“I wasn’t aware I have an aunt,” Marjan murmurs, sitting down at her mother’s feet where she gets a whiff of the papers: they smell of jasmine. “Where have you been keeping her?”

“Just about everywhere except here,” Senna answers dryly. “Oaisara was afflicted by the same wanderlust plaguing your siblings. She wandered for decades, barely sending word. …It’s horrible of me, but she completely slips from my mind. All I know is she settled a few years ago and opened a magic shop.”

Marjan perks up, sitting straighter. “She’s a magician, too?”

“Hm?” Senna inclines her head. “Oh, yes. Aside from you and your great-grandmother, she’s the only other in the family to have any magical talent.”

The young magician’s eyes go straight back to the letter, feeling as if her future is written on its pages.

Marjan has had no teachers, no one to show her how to control her magic or what exactly she can do with it. She’s had to learn on her own with only a few stories her mother remembers of her grandmother. It has been difficult, but she’s managed.

She watches her mother’s pale, silvery eyes –same as her own– scan the sweetly-scented parchment, her fond smile slowly down turning. “Bassam, listen to this.”

Her father peers up from the small carving of an ermine he works on. “All ears.”

“Oaisara’s health is on the decline. It started as a fever in late summer, and she says she can’t seem to recover. Most days she cannot even open her shop.”

Bassam makes a small noise of displeasure. “Nothing her magic can cure?”

“If it does, it is for a short while, and then she’s feverish and aching again.”

Her father shakes his head as if to say it is a shame. “Guess we’re all getting older, then?”

Marjan’s chest twists painfully.

Senna nods sadly. “Seems so…” Her attention returns to the paper in her hands, and they widen after a moment or two of reading. “Hm…”

“What does it say?” Marjan presses, interested by those widened eyes.

“She asked after you, Marjan,” Senna murmurs. “’You’re youngest is a magician, is she not? Do me a kindness and send her to help me. I expect if I had some assistance, I might be able to recover.’ …I’m surprised she remembers you exist!” She looks to her daughter. “What do you think, darling? Is that something you would be interested in doing? …Look!” And she unfolds another sheet of paper, waving it in her daughter’s face. “She even sent a map.”

Marjan sputters, brain stalling in her head.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Bassam comments. “She’s probably overdoing it, but if she had a helper half as good as Marjan, I’m sure she’d improve.”

Senna bobs her head in agreement. “She’s always overdone it.”

“And Marjan would finally have someone to teach her properly,” the woodcarver tosses in. “Even if it’s for a few months, I’m sure it would do them both a world of good.”

The magician stops with her sputtering, her brain finally working properly at her father’s words. They have her thoughtful, contemplating the possibility when she normally wouldn’t.

To have a teacher, someone to help her understand the whispers and whims of magic, is something Marjan has always wanted. It was a secret want –something she refused to dwell on because it seemed impossible to attain. There are no mages in Kairi or the villages along the coast, and by what Javie tells her, Andesh only plays host to frauds.

She’s been painfully alone with her magic, and now she has an opportunity to come to know it –and herself– better. But to leave her parents and Kairi –to leave Javie… Is it worth it?

“Wouldn’t you like to visit Vesuvia?” her mother asks, drawing Marjan from her thoughts. “Visit this magical, mystery aunt of yours?”

“I couldn’t possibly,” the magician says, waving her hand to dismiss the notion. “This… Kairi is my home, and you two need me.”

Bassam and Senna are quiet, sharing a look amongst themselves. Marjan’s always been certain they communicate telepathically with how they seem to have entire conversations with only a few meaningful looks, nods, and side-eyed glances.

“Darling,” her father starts after a drawn-out moment of silence having left Marjan antsy, “we don’t want you staying in Kairi forever. We want you to travel, see the world.”

Senna nods furiously. “Why do you think all your siblings drifted away with the wind –we told them to go find adventure! To see the world before they made such a big decision as settling down.”

“It’s admirable you think you need to sit here and take care of us, but your mother and I are more than capable –we easily have another twenty years in us,” Bassam tells her. “Now you have an amazing opportunity, and I think you should take it.”

“And I think you want to take it,” Senna chimes in. “You do not have to –we would not force you to. But with the way you spit and sputtered and how your eyes got so wide and sparkly for a moment there-.”

Marjan turns her face from her parents. “It’s so sudden,” she says. “It’s… It’s worlds away.”

_I couldn’t get to either of you quick enough if something happened._

“It’s a week’s journey to Andesh, then two or three to Vesuvia by boat,” Bassam says. “I’ve gone farther looking for that special pine I like to work with.”

“We want you to go,” Senna insists. “I don’t want you to think you have to take care of us for the rest of your life. I don’t want you to.”

“Neither do I,” Bassam agrees with a firm nod before shooting Senna another look.

Her mother dips her head in agreement.

They both look to Marjan, her mother speaking for them, “Never mind about not wanting to use force, you’re going, and you’ll love it.”

The young magician stares open-mouthed at her parents, horrified yet…

Relieved. Some small part of her is relieved.


	2. Small Comfort

Javie waits at the front door as Marjan exchanges tearful farewells with her parents, and they really are tearful. For all their talk of wanting her to go out and live, they sob and cling to her, making her want to stay. But over the past two weeks, the magician has steeled her nerves for this very moment. She decided what she needs to do: see if Oaisara can teach her anything; go to Vesuvia and garner what knowledge she can.

Maybe she brings what she learns back to Kairi. Maybe she becomes as the other Ogunjinmi children, wandering out into the world only to come home every now and again. Or she finds a place more like home than the one she’s known all her life. She stays.

It is terrifying to think about, but Marjan has resolved herself to this path.

“Send letters when you can,” her mother tells her, wiping at the tears staining the magician’s cheeks. “But do not feel as if you have to write one out and send it every day.”

“You have to send me letters, too,” Marjan croaks, voice hoarse from crying and sniffling. “And… and if you ever miss me too much, my garden is there. All the time I’ve spent in it, surely some of me has lingered.”

Senna and Bassam nod, pulling her in for another hug. It is long and full of love, so much of it tears spring fresh in the magician’s eyes.

When her parents pull away, Bassam holds out a pendant to her. She recognizes it as the little, wooden ermine he’s been whittling away on. It’s complete now, detailed with a little smile and pretty whorls across its body and suspended by a leather cord. Marjan takes it carefully into her hands and slips it over her head. The ermine, no bigger than her thumb, comes to rest comfortably close to her heart.

“I don’t know any magic,” her father says, “but I told it, over and over again, it was to be a good luck charm.”

Marjan is reduced to tears all over again, and it takes another round of hugs and coddling before she’s ready to walk out of the door. And she does so with considerable reluctance, constantly looking over her shoulder to see the people who love her most waving and smiling at her.

She keeps looking back, even when Kairi is but a smudge against the horizon –then nothing at all.

In this moment, she thinks she made the biggest mistake in her life. She tells Javie she forgot her favourite pair of trousers. She forgot to tell Doctor Kythri and Duran goodbye. She neglected to water her plants this morning (a blatant lie). Javie has none of that. They simply take her by the hand and pull her along, telling her everything will be alright. She’s going to be wonderful – _she’s going on an_ _adventure._

Marjan doesn’t know if that is comforting, but Javie’s hand around hers manages to ground her. She eventually stops looking behind and focuses on what lay before her.

Which are miles and miles of greenery. Hills and wildflowers and small streams of silver threaded about the landscape. High cliffs where she sees the smear of blue which marks the ocean.

Time, distance, passes quicker than she thought it would. She blinks, and suddenly Andesh rises from the landscape: a city as wild and green as Javie described to her, wrapped up in the embrace of ivy-riddled walls. But there is no way they could have prepared her for how busy it is, how loud. The streets are swamped with people and foliage alike, and it is constant chatter. Shouts and loud, ringing laughter. Footsteps pounding against the streets.

The magician ends up clinging to the courier she’s so overwhelmed, unable to properly take in the sights or enjoy the tucked away wonders they try to show her.

Marjan clings to them during the night as well, knowing she’ll leave them behind come morning. Javie lets her, patting her hair and letting her sleep curled into their side when normally they aren’t one for cuddling.

The small comfort makes Marjan feel all the more loved.

Javie escorts her to the docks when the first rays of watery light spill into the sky. They stand with her at the gangplank, making sure she does not bolt as they dole out assurances in their dry tone.

“Vesuvia is lovely this time of year,” they placate. “If your aunt is anything like Senna, you’ll be in good hands. And if you manage to get a grip on yourself and actually stay, I’ll come visit you in the spring.”

“You promise?” she asks, squeezing their hands.

Javie dips their head. “Of course. And listen, the next we meet, it can be you telling all the stories while I brew the tea. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Marjan doesn’t know. She feels as if her life is ending.

She starts to tell Javie so, but the captain of the vessel she is to board suddenly stands with them, resting a large, rough hand on her shoulder and apologizing for interrupting her goodbyes. They really must set out.

Javie pulls Marjan in for one last hug before extricating themselves from her death grip and pushing her up the gangplank. “You’ll be lovely,” they call after her. “I’ll see you soon, alright?”

“I love you, Javie!” she shouts, the captain’s warm hand on her shoulder the only thing keeping her going.

She hears them laugh as they respond in turn, “I love you, too.”

The captain himself escorts her to her berth, a swinging hammock identical to the dozen others hanging alongside it, and tells her she’s free to roam the ship as she pleases. He also says it’s perfectly fine for her to be as worried as she is. He remembers his first voyage away from home: he wanted to jump ship and swim back to port, but he stuck to his decision and had the time of his life.

Marjan nods at his kind words, telling herself she’s sure she’ll feel better once she gets to where she’s going. Things will continue to change, but she’ll be somewhere stationary –with family, even though she doesn’t know this particular family member.

The captain is called away to the upper-deck, and the magician follows behind him, taking up post at the ship’s starboard railing where she waves goodbye to Javie until they’ve completely faded from her sight.

“This is going to be fun,” Marjan tells herself as Andesh grows smaller, blurrier. “I’m going to have fun, and I’ll stop feeling like crying every five seconds.”

* * *

The voyage passes quite miserably for Marjan. She’s never spent long at sea, only ever having gone out with her father on his fishing vessel a few times. Otherwise, she stuck to the docks, lending a helping hand when the ships came in. So, she doesn’t have her sea legs. She’s not used to the constant bobbing and swaying. Which means she spends much of the trip with her head in a bucket or tucked away in her berth.

Otherwise, it is a peaceful trip to Vesuvia –no squalls or pirate battles– and she is notified of their arrival in the city-state by a friendly sailor who pulls her from her hammock and bids her to come up on deck.

Marjan follows after the sailor and stands beside her, waiting and watching, and her breath catches in her throat when her destination finally comes into view.

Vesuvia resides upon the waves, its borders carved into sheer cliffsides; and the ivory walls shielding it from outside forces curl inwards, embracing the city and sea. The entire city glimmers in the morning light, shining like wet jewels –especially the palace to the west. Its sky-piercing towers of gold and white are simply dazzling.

The closer Marjan draws, the more she can make out. The streets are made up of waterways, lined with sidewalks and storefronts, and are connected by arching bridges with colourful lanterns hanging from their struts. And already the magician hears the noise: music and babbling voices and the ringing of bells.

The ship docks in a rounded inlet where vessels of all make and model moor and depart. Marjan has no idea how to sail a ship, so she doesn’t help as the crew she’s traveled with prepare the ship to dock. No, she simply waits on the upper-most deck, watching the busy wharf swamped with bodies and lined with stalls and businesses where merchants hawk their fresh wares.

As it was in Andesh, Marjan experiences a sensory overload. She becomes jittery and scared, her stomach turning at the thought of stepping off the ship and into such chaos. Where is she to go? How is she to get anywhere with so many people flooding the streets. She has the map Oaisara sent, but she can barely read the damned thing with how poor the scrawl is.

The magician trembles, clutching the strap of her satchel. Her initial excitement is gone, and she wants to cry again.

Docking goes by quicker than Marjan would have liked, and soon the gangplank is lowered and the ship’s crew streams up and down it unloading cargo. The magician is pulled along in the tide, drug down onto the docks, then spat out onto the wharf where she’s immediately engulfed by the sea of bodies.

She tries to follow the horribly drawn map in her hands, she really does, but she’s jolted and turned about so many times she loses herself –her bearings. She’s too nervous to ask for directions, too worried no one will be able to understand her. Ban’endesh is her native tongue, her voice heavily accented; and though she knows the language of the land, it is her third tongue.

It is late in the afternoon when Marjan finds herself on a mostly empty street, the map in hand crumpled from how tightly she’s held it. She looks up and down the street, at the businesses having closed for the day, and wonders if she’s to sleep in the streets tonight.

“You look lost.”

The voice is friendly, accent unknown to her, and accompanied by the jingle of keys. She looks over her shoulder, seeing a tall, auburn-haired man looking her way as he locks a door to what appears to be a clinic behind him. He wears a soft, curious smile.

Marjan, overwrought, forgets her earlier worries over her language skills. She wants to find Oaisara before she breaks down in tears –and she’s damn close to it. This poor, unsuspecting man is about to get drug into her nonsense. She hates to do it, but she can’t go on wandering and fretting any longer.

The magician turns, bowing shortly at the waist. “ _Iho_ , I am horribly, horribly lost,” she says, fighting her tears and sniffing. She holds out her map to the stranger. “I have wandered all day and have no idea where I am.”

The black boots the stranger wears enter into her field of vision, tip-tapping against the stone, and he takes the map she offers. She hears the paper crinkle as he inspects it.

“Is… is this even Vesuvia?” he asks aloud, and she’s unsure as to whether he speaks to her or himself.

But the inquiry is enough to topple Marjan over the edge, and she looks up at the stranger with watery eyes. “ _Sayi jangina taha!_ It-. It is so much bigger than home! One street could hold all of Kairi!” She fast dissolves into her native tongue, babbling about how people keep running into her and how she wants to lie down and forget today.

 _“Darang’uhos.”_ A hand settles lightly on her shoulder. _“Semubai akanecha bairo. Kitmi akahue lihos kam’im rumhara.”_

Marjan blinks up at the tall man, wiping the tears from her eyes as she meets his grey ones. Hearing her native tongue soothes her immeasurably, immediately, especially since he told her everything would be fine and they would get her home.

 _“Teran’kasida,”_ she sniffles. “You are kind.”

He waves a black-gloved hand. “Think nothing of it. …Now, can you tell me exactly where you’re trying to go?”

“My aunt Oaisara’s,” Marjan tells him, tears given way to wet, little hiccups. “She owns a magic shop.”

“Oh, Oaisara’s?” He smiles brightly, assuredly, at her. “I know exactly where that is. It’s nearly a straight shot from here.” The stranger beckons for her to follow, and she does. “We’ll have you home before nightfall.”

And so Marjan follows the tall man through the city, staying in his long shadow and listening as he prattles on about how she picked a lovely time of year to visit. The weather’s always fair, and there’s always something going on. His favourite part of town is South End –which is where she had ended up– but Center City –where she’s trying to go– is absolutely lovely as well.

The magician does not say much. She can be vibrant and sociable, sure, but it takes her a little warming up. But she does return his smiles and nods or shakes her head as is necessary. She realizes she probably comes off as ungrateful and unfriendly, but she’s mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausted.

But she is grateful. She’ll… she has some coin her parents gave her, and she pulls it from her satchel and holds it tightly in her hands so she can give it to him the second they get to Oaisara’s.

And as he promised, he gets her to where she’s going before nightfall, stopping before a two-story abode, standing taller than it does wide. The rough stone is painted light purple and a little hanging sign of a snake encompassing a chalice rests over the door. There is no other identifier this is a magic shop.

Marjan never would have found it.

She once more bows to the stranger when he tells her she’s home, thanking him in her native tongue and that of the land as she holds out the small satchel of coin.

He does not take it from her hands. Marjan looks up at him curiously.

A light blush dusts his fair skin, and his grey eyes are firmly turned away from her. “There’s no need for all of _that_.” His hand waves frantically in a dismissive motion. “It’s completely fine. I’m just glad we got you where you needed to go.”

The magician pulls herself upright, straightening her spine. “ _Sayi bera’kerhos._ You did me a kindness, and I would do you one in turn.”

“You can tell Oaisara to cut me a deal the next time I come in to restock,” he says. “I don’t need anything more.”

“Are you sure?” Marjan presses. “I…” She stops talking, realizing she’s making him uncomfortable. The magician simply feels as if she owes the man a debt. He walked her across town and made her feel safe. Like she would be okay.

She gives one last sincere thank you.

He accepts it with a smile, telling her she’s quite welcome –and he hopes the rest of her stay in Vesuvia is stress free.

 _“Seba dibe’ya malata ke’i kam’im,”_ she bids of him, bowing shortly once more.

“And to you as well,” he says, walking off with a wave.

The magician stares after the stranger until his long legs have carried him out of sight. She hopes there are more people in Vesuvia like him, because she’s going to need all the patience and kindness she can get.

* * *

It takes a few moments for Marjan to muster up the nerve to knock on the magic shop’s door, and it takes several moments more for her to receive a response: a harried, “Coming!”

She waits patiently, listening as footsteps draw closer and as several locks are disengaged. When the door opens, she is greeted by a woman who looks so similar to her mother it brings tears to her eyes. She’s a bit older, a bit taller; built tough as Marjan is. But she has the same pale-silver eyes Senna has and the mischievous curve of the mouth.

The woman in the doorway, smelling of sage and rosemary, clasps her hands together in delight before she throws her arms around Marjan, pulling her into an all-consuming hug.

“I’ve wondered when you would arrive!” she babbles, voice a few octaves deeper than her mother’s but holding the same cadence. “I saw you coming but didn’t know when!” She pulls back from the hug, holding Marjan at arm’s length. “Oh, don’t you look just like Senna. Just like me! Ah, but you have a little Bassam in you, don’t you –it’s the set of your brow! Why do you look as if you’re about to burst into tears?”

Marjan bursts into tears; Oaisara hurries her into the magic shop, shutting the door behind them.

The magician is brought into a room busy in décor, bursting with colour. Shelves line the walls, each one bearing jars of oddities and little trinkets. Chimes and billowing curtains hang from the ceiling, as do bundles of dried herbs. There’s a front counter of glass, its insides boasting colourful bottles and expensive-looking tools.

Marjan can’t take it in properly with tears in her eyes. She can only apologize as she is made to sit upon a chair loaded down with a multitude of pillows.

“I am not usually such a whiny mess, I swear,” she tells her aunt. “I… this is the farthest I’ve been from home, and I have been lost all day, and you look so much like mother it has made me miss home terribly.”

The older magician sits down across from her, taking her hands into her own. They are spotted and brittle, but they are still strong.

“There is no need to apologize,” Oaisara states firmly, squeezing her hands. “Your tears are perfectly justified. Let them out if you need to.”

Marjan certainly does, and her aunt holds her hands for the duration, telling her she’s brave to have made the journey by herself. They can write her parents immediately to let them know she made it to Vesuvia safely. She mentions several times how glad she is to have her here, to meet her.

Oaisara has been dreaming of her, she claims. After she sent Senna the letter, she started seeing a girl with ebon hair and pale-silver eyes, and she knew it was her sister’s youngest. She could sense her drawing closer and closer –she cleaned up her house just for Marjan’s arrival.

The young magician laughs, unable to tell. The magic shop is an eclectic mess.

“Well, I dusted,” Oaisara admits. “Well, I dusted in some places, and I rearranged a few things so there would be room for you. …I have a drawer in the dresser upstairs for you, and I put away half of my pillows and blankets so there’s room for both of us in the bed. If that makes you uncomfortable, we can always make a pallet for you –I have plenty of material to pad the floor.”

“I’m used to sharing beds,” Marjan tells her, sniffing loudly and wiping her eyes. She thinks she’s done with tears for the night –she hopes she is. “I thank you for making space for me.”

Oaisara smiles brightly at her. “And I’m thankful you made the trip for little, old me.”

Marjan feels lighter, comforted, and she’s able to settle down into casual chatting and tea-sipping. She updates Oaisara on how Senna and Bassam are while her aunt shares stories of their childhood –of when she, Bassam, and Senna wandered together. They had a few, good years of adventuring about, but once Bassam and Senna conceived their fourth child, they decided it was time to settle in Kairi. Her memories of that time together have remained the sharpest she holds.

Such talk soon gives way to tales of magical shenanigans, which prompts Oaisara to ask Marjan of her skills.

“I’ve had no proper training,” the ebon-haired girl explains. “No one around Kairi is so inclined. I had to teach myself.”

“Well, what did you teach yourself?”

Marjan tells her aunt about her garden back home, how she’s able to make the plants grow with a word or wave of her hand. She can float and make other things float, too. As well as soothe aches. She has these feelings that are usually spot on, and sometimes, she swears she hears whispers: the magic telling her what to do.

The soft whispers are how she figured out she was magically inclined in the first place. When she was a child, she dropped a bucket she was using to collect shellfish in the ocean. It quickly filled with water, sinking down to where she could not reach, and she started to think if only she could breathe water, she could get to it.

Something in her head kept telling her to try it, to close her eyes and shape her reality. And so, she stepped into the water, eyes closed and breath held. When her lungs began to burn, she pulled in a breath and the water flowed in. It was painless; it felt as natural as breathing air. She was able to retrieve her bucket without an issue.

From then on, she listened to the whispers, learning she could make seeds bloom in her hands and light up the night with a flick of the wrist. There have been accidents of course: fires and angry neighbors and sinkholes opening up in the ground –all of which made her terrified of her powers. She stopped experimenting and stuck strictly to simple things –to her garden and making life easier for her parents.

There are times when the magic calls to her loudly, telling her to try one thing or another, but she doesn’t listen like she used to.

Oaisara sets down her teacup with a bang, her tea sloshing out and staining the pretty, purple tablecloth. “Listen to your magic!” she stresses, taking Marjan’s face into her hands and smooshing it around. “Listen. To. Your. Magic. _Listen to your magic._ It knows what it’s talking about! Dear girl, you could be fantastic!”

“Would… would you help me, Oaisara?” Marjan hesitantly inquires, taking her aunt’s hands to at least still them so they won’t keep contorting her face. “I was sent to help you but also to help myself.”

The older magician nods, shooting her a look that says of course she’s going to help. Why would Marjan even need to ask? “Of course, I’m going to teach you! It is every magician’s dream to train an apprentice up properly –it is our duty! Especially since you’re family. I can’t just let all the secrets my grandmother taught me disappear along with me. It’s a waste.”

The apprentice smiles at her aunt, hopeful and excited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Iho- yes  
> Sayi jangina taha- I don't know  
> Darang'uhos- Come now (cheer up, buck up, etc.)  
> Semubai akanecha bairo. Kitmi akahue lihos kam'im rumhara- All will be fine. We will see you home.  
> Teran'kasida- Thank you  
> Sayi bera'kerhos- I insist  
> Seba dibe'ya malata ke'i kam'im- A blessed night to you


	3. Utterly Perfect

It does not take Marjan long to realize Oaisara is her mother’s polar opposite –her own polar opposite. The older magician is a scatter-brained, highly-energetic thing, eclectic in her tastes and loud in her mannerisms. Even though she’s ailing, she’s always in motion, always wanting to get something done. Most of Marjan’s energy goes into getting her aunt to sit and rest for a moment, allowing her to take care of things in her stead. It takes two months to convince the woman she’s capable of opening and closing the shop, of tending to the customers that come through.

In those two months, Marjan also learns how to properly deal with Oaisara. Things which used to make her cringe now bring laughter tumbling from her lips. Matters which used to stir up anxiety –such as the state of the shop and the errands she’d be sent out to complete on her own– trouble her no longer. The shop is homey, cozy. A trip to South End Market nothing to sneeze about. And the rituals and nonsense which used to baffle her now make perfect sense.

Why did Oaisara drag every liquid-storing vessel in the house onto the back patio?

To collect moon water of course!

Why does Marjan need to stand naked with her on the roof of the house for an hour every morning?

To properly absorb the sun’s energy!

Why is the magician throwing the earning off a recent sell into the ocean?

The client was a scoundrel, and their money would bring them nothing but bad luck!

Why is she holding salt-covered lemons mere inches away from her, acting as if she’s scrubbing herself down with them?

The neighbor put a curse on her –she’s certain of it!

It all becomes endearing, and Marjan adopts many of the odd practices. She always pours a bit of moon water in her bath and seasons it with herbs. She and Oaisara take turns smudging each other if they have had a bad day. She keeps track of the moon’s phase and whispers a protective charm over herself, the shop, and Oaisara when she goes out. She acknowledges the moon and sun and stars and bids the creatures which cross her path a good day.

She feels more connected to her magic than she ever has –more confident in herself and the strange forces she can manipulate. And she never thought she could come to love anywhere as she loves Kairi, but she truly has come to adore Vesuvia. It may be louder, busier, than what she is used to, but she’s getting used to it bit-by-bit.

Marjan is especially in love with Vesuvia right now. She may not care for the Count –a brat of a man by the name of Lucio– but the city is absolutely alive in preparation for his birthday: a week-long affair of food, games, entertainment, mischief, and masquerades. Everywhere the apprentice goes, colourful lanterns and streamers hang. Music plays. People make ready their decadent masquerade outfits.

Marjan and Oaisara have been working on their own animal-themed masks and fashions: Marjan’s mask is modeled after the ermine and Oaisara’s after the otter. They’re nearly complete. Her aunt’s bronze dress simply needs to be let out a little and the strap on her mask fitted properly into place, and the apprentice is currently adding a bit of shimmery, translucent-black gossamer here and there on her own outfit for extra pizzazz.

Currently, the two sit in the shop –at the fortune-telling table in the back– Oaisara carefully mending her garments while Marjan tries her damndest to get the sleeves on her own finished. The festivities begin tonight, and she can’t dare parade about the streets in an unfinished outfit.

Yet their work is interrupted by the tinkling of the small, silver bells tied to the front door, and Marjan sets her work aside, assuring her aunt she can tend to the customer herself.

She breezes into the front of the shop, finding a familiar figure slowly meandering in: Doctor Devorak, the one who escorted her home her first night in Vesuvia. He’s dressed more like a pirate than a doctor today, his shirt billowy and white and dark trousers tucked into the shining, black boots coming up over his knees. Then there’s the black sash tied around his waist, and his auburn waves seem as if they were purposefully styled to be in a disarray.

Honestly, all he is missing is an eyepatch and sabre.

Marjan greets him with a smile and a, “ _Selabha sona_ , doctor.”

“Hello there, Marjan, how are you and Oaisara keeping?”

“Very well-.”

“Is that you, Julian?” Oaisara shouts from the back room, cutting Marjan off. “You better not be here to heckle me about missing my appointment! I couldn’t leave the house that day, the almanac advised against it!”

The apprentice snorts; the doctor shakes his head tiredly, smiling as he calls back, “No, I’m not –though I am disappointed. As well as insistent you come for a visit at your earliest convenience.”

“Do doctors not do house calls in Vesuvia?” Marjan asks, taking her place behind the front counter and leaning into it. “You come in here for herbs and the like every two or so weeks, surely you could have brought your equipment with you.”

“Surely,” Oaisara echoes, voiced tinged with amusement.

The good doctor’s face flushes as he averts his gaze. “I mean I could,” he babbles. “I probably should, but it’s not something I usually think about. Maybe next time? Yes. Next time most certainly-.”

Marjan’s smile grows to take in her ears. “What brings you here today, Julian?” she asks, sparing him by changing the subject.

The doctor recovers quickly, dawning his business-like composure. It has the apprentice fighting a grin because she knows what a farce it is. “You’re my last hope for aloe. All my other sources are dried up.”

“Treating burns?”

“Burns, cuts, and more,” he tells her. “I deal with injury on top of injury during the Masquerade, and aloe is a key ingredient in most of my salves.”

_Sayi bisha memdata.”_ Marjan grabs a basket from behind the counter and motions for the doctor to follow her out the backdoor where they step into the garden she keeps. It is as wild and rampant as her one back home, and she keeps many aloe vera plants.

Grabbing a pair of shears from a messy, little, patio table littered with pots, the apprentice harvests from her row of aloe, taking a leaf here and there, then using her magic to encourage new growth. The doctor sometimes points to leaves he wants, and she cuts them for him; otherwise, he leaves her to pick and choose.

“Will you be attending the festivities?” she asks of him as she works.

“But of course! I never miss a good party.” And he smiles roguishly at her. “I’ll just have my bag on hand for the inevitability of some poor sap juggling fire setting himself ablaze.”

“Has that actually happened before?” She snips another leaf. _“Lehika?”_

Julian nods. “A bit more –and it happened last year. Twice. People get drunk and think they can play with fire.”

Marjan shakes her head. “A shame.”

“What about you? Are you and Oaisara planning on partying the night away?”

“Oh, Oaisara is most certainly, but I… well, I am going to try.” She sets her shears to the side and rises to her feet, brushing off the legs of her trousers. “I have never been to a party before. I am excited yet apprehensive.”

“Never been to a party!” the doctor scoffs in disbelief. “I don’t believe you.”

“We had small gatherings in Kairi, but nothing like what goes on around here.” She gestures broadly. “Just the preparations have been more of an event than anything I have experienced before. _Iyo adaho giala.”_

“Crazy, yes, but I’m sure you’ll have a grand time,” Doctor Devorak assures. “And if we happen to cross paths, I’ll show you some of my favourite spots.”

“I appreciate that,” Marjan says, smiling gently at the man as she motions for him to follow her back into the shop. “Let us settle up, yes? Oaisara agreed to a special discount just for you.”

* * *

As night descends, the two magicians dawn their costumes and head into the slowly darkening streets already full of merriment. There are booths set up along the block, showcasing small trinkets and decadent, little sweets, and they glitter in the multi-coloured lantern light. Music, laughter, and shouts of glee fill the air.

Marjan hasn’t even locked the door behind her, and she’s already on her way to mini anxiety attack. She’s excited of course –she’s been looking forward to the Masque since she heard of it– but nerves twist her stomach.

“Still planning to give out fortunes tonight?”

The apprentice looks over her shoulder, seeing Oaisara speaks with a stranger with fluffy, white hair in a wooden, fox mask painted gold and white. They set up a small, velvety-blue tent beside the magic shop, tucked away in the little alley.

“I’ll get all the hopeful couples in Vesuvia desperate to know of their future together,” they say, a smile dimpling their cheeks.

“You could peddle a few of our love potions if you like –Marjan, grab a few before you lock up!”

The ebon-haired girl nods, fishing the key back out to open the door.

“No, no,” the stranger insists. “I wouldn’t trouble you.”

“No trouble,” Oaisara sounds particularly firm. “Make a coin or two off the lovesick fools. We’ll split the profits fifty-fifty, and you can treat Faust to a few, fancy rats.”

The stranger laughs, and Marjan catches sight of something purple and slender winding its way around them. A serpentine head peeks around their shoulder, cocking its head to the side.

“She accepts your terms,” they say, petting the snake gently under her chin.

Marjan smiles softly, slipping into the shop while they continue to chat. She ducks behind the front counter, finding a bag and filling it with little, pink and purple bottles with heart stoppers. She assumes they work –Oaisara doesn’t peddle snake oil.

Shouldering the bag, she exits the shop once more, locking it behind her. When she turns to present the potions to Oaisara, she finds her aunt has up and disappeared.

“A few friends of hers appeared, and she quite literally poofed away with them,” the fox-masked fortuneteller calls to her from where they hang multi-coloured tapestries all about their tent. The snake helps decorate, slithering up the tent poles to secure varied wooden masks here and there. “She said if you two do not find one another, not to wait up. She’ll make her way home.”

Marjan sighs. “ _Tenkrita sajama_ … Ah, here.” She crosses the space between them, offering the bag up. “I brought you a dozen. Hopefully, you sell them all.”

They smile brightly, accepting the bag with a gracious inclination of their head. “Thank you very much.” Their eyes rise, curious. “…You know, I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. Did Oaisara finally decide to take on an apprentice?”

“I suppose she did. I am her niece,” Marjan explains, “and I am trying to make sure she takes it easy, but she makes it very difficult.”

The stranger makes a “psh” noise. “Take it easy? She has more energy than I do most of the time.”

The apprentice dips her head in agreement. “But she took ill in the summer and cannot seem to recover in full. We will have a week or two when nothing in the world can stop her, then suddenly she is a mess of aches. Feverish. She will take a potion or cast a spell, and it will seem to work, but eventually she ends up bedridden again.”

The stranger frowns, the purple eyes behind the mask dimming. “She’s never told me about any of that.”

The ebon-haired girl shakes her head. “I do not think she has mentioned it to many –or at all. She waited until fall was upon us to contact my mother.”

The fox-masked fortuneteller appears troubled as they take to petting the serpent slithering up their shoulder.

Marjan rubs at her elbows, feeling suddenly awful. She ruined their night, didn’t she? Delivered them sorrowful news at a time meant for merriment. “Apologies.” She bows her head. “The night is supposed to be fun, but I made it pressing and sad.”

“A little,” they say, and their lips quirk slightly. “But I’m glad I know. Now I can do my part and send healing spells her way.”

The sentiment is simple and sweet and also immediately captures Marjan’s attention. “You are a magician, then?”

They nod. “A real one, I promise. Not one of the fakes you’ll find peppered about the city. …And I’m assuming you are, too?” They sound hopeful.

“I am.”

They smile brightly. “It’s always nice to meet another practitioner. Being a magician can often be a lonely existence. I don’t always mind, though.”

“I know what you mean,” the apprentice murmurs. “Especially since I came to Vesuvia. It is loud here, packed with people. It makes me miss the serenity of home, the peace I had to myself.” She glances around her, taking in the lights and sounds and smells. It makes her brain whir and roar, and she wishes Oaisara hadn’t run off and left her. “But right now, I could really do with Oaisara’s company.”

“The Masquerade is a lot –and it’s a lot for a week straight,” the stranger agrees. “But it’s fun if you’re with the right people, in the right place.”

“Is behind our little shop the right place for you?” Marjan inquires.

“It’s perfect for me,” they say, cutting her a smile as they raise a hand. Magic glows around their fingertips, and the little, paper lanterns strewn about the tent glow gently. “Oaisara is known to be a legitimate magician throughout the city, but she’s never at her shop during the Masquerade. So, I intercept all those who come looking for her during this highly magical time. …And believe it or not, this is one of the quietest places in the city during the Masque.”

Oh, that certainly stirs up her anxiety. How is she ever going to find Oaisara if everything around her becomes increasingly chaotic? She’ll end up curled into a ball in an alleyway.

“You would not like help, would you?” Marjan asks quickly, thinking right here is the perfect place for her too. “I can be your… assistant? Lure in prospective clients off the street?”

Their eyes seem to shine mischievously behind their mask as they take her in with a cursory, up-down glance. “You know, that could be fun...” They extend a hand to her; their snake coming to coil around it and flit her little tongue at her. “I’m Asra.”

She takes it, and they shake warmly. “Marjan.”

* * *

Even though Marjan only managed to make it a few feet from home before succumbing to her anxieties, she still has an absolute ball with Asra. They take turns telling fortunes to those who step into the tent, and when one of them is reading palms or shilling love potions and masks, the other performs small tricks in the street, drawing in a crowd of onlookers –a few amongst them always come into the tent after the show.

During the lulls in traffic flow, they sit together in the tent, showing one another tricks and illusions they know as they share snacks from the nearby vendors. Asra shares a story or two of his travels, and Marjan tells him about a few of the eccentric customers who come into the shop.

“There is this one woman who comes in and it is always with a complaint. She will say, ‘This paste you gave me for my headaches is not working,’ and when I ask her if she applies it to her temples as instructed, she looks at me in complete confusion. She had been eating it! And you know it becomes my fault. I did not tell her what she was supposed to do with it –I did not include any instructions. But I did –I know I did because I try to prevent such vexing situations.”

The magician beside her laughs loudly, head falling back onto the mass of pillows they recline upon.

“And then there is this man who comes in wearing a trench coat –even with the weather so warm– and I will be standing right there, watching him as he watches me as he slips things into his pockets. And it is not even merchandise he takes. He picks up mundane items like scraps of paper and pencils. I left a sandwich out on the front counter, and he shoved it into his mouth.”

Asra cackles but tries to stop, tries to catch their breath so they can ask her, “Does- does he buy anything? Or just come in there to rob you of your stationery and lunch?”

“He has never spent a single coin! And Oaisara will not let me banish him.” She crosses her arms over her chest, annoyed at the memory. “She says he keeps the clutter from building up! He is our own, personal garbage collector or some nonsense, but he owes me three quills, a small journal, and a turkey sandwich.”

The magician’s head knocks against hers as they roll with laughter. “Perfect. Utterly perfect.”

Marjan, a little peeved, can’t help but crack a smile at such infectious laughter.

“It makes me think having a little shop could be fun,” they say, lifting up their mask to properly wipe the tears from their eyes, revealing fine –but strong– facial features. “Quiet most days, but then there would be moments of insanity to liven things up from time to time.”

“More often than not they are livening in the most aggravating way,” Marjan grumbles, reaching for their basket of treats only to realize they’d eaten all the varied goodies within. She tuts, disappointed. “You think the booth down the street will have any chocolate cookies left?”

Asra sits up, peering into the basket and dawning a frown of their own. “It was full…” They rise swiftly to their feet, plucking up the basket then offering her a hand. “Shall we go see?”

Marjan takes it and is pulled to her feet. The magician then offers her their elbow, and after only a moment of hesitation, she loops her arm through.

They exit the tent together, Faust wrapping herself up amongst their conjoined arms, and as they walk back into the street, Marjan spies a woman in feathers and an owl mask who looks quite lost. Her head turns to look up and down the street, and she starts to walk off only to stop in place.

“Lost?” Asra calls out to the stranger.

The lithe figure turns on them, their long, purple hair sweeping around them. “I do not want to admit to it, but yes… I am very lost.”

Marjan dawns a smile she hopes is assuring. “It happens to the best of us. …Where are you trying to go?”

“The palace,” she says, turning in its general direction. “I know where it is, but I keep getting turned around in the streets… They are a maze.”

“That they are,” Asra agrees, looking to Marjan. There is a question in their eyes, a prompt. Should they get their cookies or help the regal owl to the palace?

“Why not both?” She needs to go look for Oaisara anyway.

Asra smiles widely at her answer before looking to the stranger. “If you’d like, we can show you there, but we must pick up snacks first.”

The owl smiles softly in amusement. “If you do not mind.”

“Not at all,” Marjan assures, Asra already guiding her up the street. She motions for the stranger to walk with them.

The owl lady stays right by her and Asra’s side as they make to the castle, and she requests as often as they do to stop and sample the different fare of the booths littering the streets –as well as to stop and watch some performance or another. Like the painter who crafts amazing vistas in a few, short moments and the troupe of performers who play with fire and swallow swords (Marjan thinks of Julian as she watches barely controlled fire whirl about).

They end up having a grand time together, Marjan actually enjoying herself –she knew she would eventually, it was only a matter of acclimating to the hustle and bustle. And she is lucky to have found herself in such great company. It has made all the difference.

Marjan is sure it takes them more than an hour or two to get to the palace, but they make it, and it truly is the epicenter of the merrymaking. The crowds are thick and loud. The attractions numerous; in every direction the apprentice looks, something different is going on. Fire blooms. Bubbles fill the air. The lively music stirs at something in Marjan, making her want to dance.

But she ends up clinging closer to Asra and their companion, fearing she’ll be swallowed up and spat out somewhere all by her lonesome.

The owl lady thanks them for getting her back to the palace and insists they stick with her for a while longer. The night is just beginning after all, and she’s found them to be quite enjoyable. Surely, they can enjoy the palace’s attractions together.

Asra and Marjan take her up on the offer, the latter hoping she’ll be able to find her aunt somewhere amongst the revelry.

They follow the owl into the palace, visiting a dozen different rooms, each one housing something different. In one room, there are many cute and cuddly animals receiving proper pets and love. In another, everything appears to be entirely made of chocolate. One room is night dark with fireflies floating about; another is a mirror maze Marjan gets stuck in for an embarrassing amount of time.

After much snacking and play, Asra, Marjan, and the owl find themselves in the garden at the back of the palace. It is quieter here; groups of partygoers enjoy tea and delicate finger foods by the light of pastel lanterns, and what music there is comes from a violin played softly and expertly on a veranda strewn with little, golden lights.

The owl leads them straight there, falling gracefully back into a plush chaise and motioning for them to do similar.

Marjan certainly does, sinking into a mound of cushions big enough for her, Asra, and Faust.

“Would either of you care for a drink?” the owl asks of them, a hand raising. A server appears from the shadows with a prim and proper bow and a politely soft, “Mi’lady?”

_Mi’ lady?_

Marjan’s brows draw together beneath the cover of her mask.

“I need water after that walk,” Asra says, settling back beside Marjan.

“ _Iho_ , water would be lovely,” the apprentice agrees.

The owl nods, turning to the server to say, “And a glass of white wine for me. Thank you.”

The server bows her head before setting off to fetch them their drinks.

“The Masquerade is a grand affair, is it not?” the owl observes. “When I heard of it, I was not sure what to expect. But I find myself pleasantly surprised. All of Vesuvia seems to be enjoying themselves.”

“It’s a grand time for nearly everyone,” Asra agrees. “Most of us are able to forget our problems –even if it’s for a week.” Their gaze lands on Marjan, and they smile playfully at her as they tease, “But I keep thinking Marjan is going to jump out of her skin every time someone accidentally brushes against her.”

She makes a sour face at Asra but ends up smiling despite herself. “There are not nearly so many people where I am from –someone would have to go out of their way to bump into me.”

“Ah, so you are new to the city as well?” the owl surmises.

“Relatively. I have been here for a little over two months, and every time I think I have conquered my anxiety, it proves to me I have, in fact, not.”

The owl’s lips twist into a grin. “I do not care for so many people either, being swamped and jostled, but the crowding is something familiar. Something I should be used to. …What about you, Asra? How long have you lived in Vesuvia?”

“All my life,” the magician answers. “I travel often, but I always end up back here eventually. It’s… I suppose it’s home.”

“I am sure you have a wealth of adventures to share,” the owl observes.

Asra’s smile is coy and teasing as they say, “And my fair share of secrets.”

The owl chuckles softly, the sound warm and lovely. “Then I will pry into something else… like… how long the two have you been together.”

Marjan’s brain halts in her skull, her head cocking confusedly to the side. “Together?”

Asra laughs aloud. “We actually met tonight. I set up my tent outside her aunt’s shop, and she offered to be my assistant.”

The owl blinks, surprised. She leans forward in her seat, picking over them with cool-red eyes. “Really? But you two seem so close.”

_Do we?_

Well, they have been within a few feet of each other all night, laughing and chatting, and at one point the magician spooned ice cream into her mouth. And they did walk the city with their elbows linked. And they are sitting awfully close together even now –on the same mass of cushions even though there are several other mounds Asra could have plopped down on.

Marjan hadn’t realized; she hadn’t minded. She still doesn’t, but now she’s hyperaware of how close they are –of the fact she has spent the night with a perfect stranger.

But it had felt as easy as breathing.

She knows an awful blush must creep up her neck and cheeks, and when the server comes back around with their drinks, she seizes hers to gulp down, hoping it cools her.

“Magicians are like that,” Asra explains, casting Marjan a sly look which has her face even hotter. “We’re a wild bunch. Put a few of us together, and we’ll have either fallen in love or killed one another in a few hours’ time.”

The owl looks as if she believes them for half a moment, then a knowing grin comes to crook her lips. “You play too much, Asra.”

“Maybe,” they say simply with a shrug, sitting back further in the mound of pillows; the shifting of the cushions has Marjan falling into their side.

She tries not to have a heart attack, to act as if this is completely normal and fine. She’s not embarrassed or wanting to disappear.

Asra’s head knocks softly against hers. They still smile playfully at her as they say to the owl, “So, when are you going to introduce yourself properly, Countess?”

Marjan goes stiff as the owl jolts a touch, her wine glass stilling against her lips. “My deepest apologies,” she says. “I completely forgot myself.” And she sets her glass to the side, untying the lace which holds her mask in place to indeed reveal the Countess: Nadia Satrinava of Prakra.

And in a voice like silk and honey, she properly introduces herself, her head bowing courteously. Then she looks to them, smile warm and expectant.

“Asra Alnazar,” the white-haired magician responds coolly, flipping up their mask. “Travelling magician.”

They both look to Marjan, her mind and chest still fluttering and working through the new information. “O-Oh. I am just Marjan –Marjan Ogunjinmi of Kairi.” And she sits up straight, untying her mask and smiling her best smile when her face is freed. “It is lovely to meet you, Countess.”

Nadia smiles brightly at her, the grin absolutely charming. “And it has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Her cool-red eyes move to Asra. “Both of yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Selabha sona- Good day  
> Sayi bisha memdata- I can help  
> Lehika- More  
> Iyo adaho giala- This is crazy  
> Tenkrita sajama- Of course  
> Iho- Yes


	4. Exceptionally Lucky

Marjan doesn’t remember when she got home, though, she’s somewhat certain the sun was crawling its way into the sky as she made the arduous trek from palace to magic shop.

The night is also a bit of a blur. She remembers the early evening perfectly well, but after she realized the woman she was enjoying the Masque with was Nadia Satrinava, everything melts together. She was nervous. Marjan tried not to show it of course, tried to treat the Countess the same way she had been before she realized who she was. It was hard. She suddenly felt humble, out of place alongside the Prakran beauty, as if she wasn’t… enough. Regal enough. Proper enough. Graceful or charming.

Senna and Bassam instilled good manners within her but not the manners of royalty.

Regardless of how out of place she felt at times, Marjan had fun with Nadia and Asra. The Countess even said she hoped to see them again sometime –but maybe she was just being polite.

The apprentice tries not to think too hard on it as she opens the shop for the day. She does a general dusting, straightens items on their shelves, and finally lights the lantern out front to signal they are open.

It is slow at first, draining Marjan. She didn’t sleep nearly as long as she would have liked, and without something to do, she is likely to fall asleep behind the front counter. Around noon, though, a steady stream of customers comes through. Most of them come seeking hangover cures, and a few very quietly ask for a potion able to negate any risky business they got up to.

Marjan’s supply of both potions is wiped out quickly (she holds onto a hangover cure for Oaisara because she got home even later than Marjan, and she was slurring drunk), and she ends up hanging a sign on the front door to let others know their stocks are depleted and to check back later in the day. After which business slows back down, and she’s able to sit and get to work on concocting enough potions to meet the demands of Vesuvia.

She jazzes the potions up with a bit of healing magic when she suddenly has the feeling she is being watched. Looking up from her work, to the window which shines down the golden light of day onto her workstation, she sees Asra leaning in the window. Faust drapes over their shoulders, watching her with the same curiosity they do.

If she’s caught off guard, it is only for a moment, but then she’s smiling easily at the magician. “Good afternoon, Asra.”

They already wear such a smooth grin, but it widens as they bid her similar. “What are you working so doggedly on?”

“Hangover cures and birth control,” she answers simply, taking a bottle of the former into her hands and holding it close. She closes her eyes, channeling her magic into the liquid within. Once she’s satisfied, she opens her eyes and offers one to Asra. “Are you in need of one? You and Nadia went a little heavy on the wine if I recall.”

The magician watches her with wide, purple eyes, as if she’s the most amazing thing they’ve ever beheld. “You glow gold,” they say, voice soft with wonder. “Do it again.”

Marjan watches them curiously for a moment; they reach through the window to push a bottle her way, a clear prompt to do it again. So, she does, keeping her eyes open this time. She’s a bit surprised she glows –that the bottle absorbs the colour, looking as if it were molded from the precious metal.

When she stops, it absorbs the golden hue, losing the shimmery luster.

Asra has her do it a few more times before they appear satisfied, then they’re sighing as they rest their head upon their arms. Faust slithers her away atop their fluffy, white-haired head. “Your magic is incredibly fluid. …What else can you do?”

“I showed you a lot of my tricks last night,” Marjan says, feeling pleased and confident due to Asra’s reaction. She gathers up her bottles, smiling slyly at him. “If I show you anymore, you will have learned all my secrets. Then how am I to surprise you?”

They chuckle lightly, the sound filling her with warmth. “Could you… use any help around the shop today? I know Oaisara will be out of commission until nightfall.”

The apprentice considers this as she readjusts the mass of bottles in her arms. She certainly wouldn’t mind the help, and if she is going to be completely honest with herself, she wouldn’t mind spending another day with them. She likes Asra a great deal. There is something about them magnetic and warm. They set her at ease.

“It would be much appreciated,” she says, smiling softly at the magician, then laughing when they immediately wriggle through the open window.

For the rest of the afternoon, Asra and Faust help Marjan keep things running smoothly. They assist with potions and customers, as well as fetch a very late lunch from a noodle shop down the street. And at the end of the day, they help Marjan with general tidying up before extinguishing the lantern out front.

The magician offers to put together a new supply of potions for the next day as Marjan starts up the staircase to rouse Oaisara. She accepts the offer, thanking them kindly before disappearing up the steep steps.

The open room at the top of the stairs serves as many things: a kitchen, dining room, and bedroom. There’s a kitchenette along the far-right wall and many hooks for jackets, scarves, and hats along the left –as well as the dresser they share. Close to the kitchenette there is a table set close to the floor, rounded and wood painted with colourful whorls and spirals. Around it are even more cushions, serving as chairs. Adjacent, a door leads into a small washroom. And at the very back of the room is a wide-windowed alcove where the bed Marjan and Oaisara share is tucked away. It is piled high with pillows and blankets, shielded from the harsh light of day by numerous curtains.

Normally, the first thing Marjan or Oaisara does in the morning is throw open the curtains, but the apprentice had left them closed because she didn’t want to disturb her aunt. Even still, she only opens them a sliver, making sure the light streaming in won’t exacerbate a headache or sting at sensitive eyes.

Then she carefully sits on the edge of the bed to gently prod at the woman wrapped up like a tamale in her mass of blankets. “Oaisara, let’s wake up, hm? I have a potion for you if you need it and those noodles you like.”

Her aunt shows no sign of rousing, and out of habit, Marjan places the back of her hand to Oaisara’s forehead to gauge her temperature and immediately starts ripping the woman free of the cocoon she formed around herself because she is murderously hot, doused with sweat.

_How long has she been running such a fever?!_

Her aunt stirs as Marjan tears away her layers, murmuring in a sleep-addled voice she is so very cold. So very tired. She reaches for the blankets, trying to pull them back into place. Then she mumbles about how achy she is.

“You’re burning up with fever,” the apprentice says urgently. “And it doesn’t appear you’re sweating it off. …How are you feeling?”

_Please let this be a horrendous hangover._

“…Not… great,” her aunt murmurs, confusion tinting her voice. Her words slip together. “I don’t understand… My magic. Your magic. Potions. Julian’s little remedies… All of it, and I still keep feeling this way… Marjan? …Marjan? What can we do, Marjan?”

The apprentice has one idea, and she doesn’t ask for permission before scooping her aunt into her arms and sprinting down the stairs in a hurry (she’s carried heavier loads helping at the docks in Kairi), and then she’s out the backdoor she opens with but a thought. She thinks she hears Asra say something, but it doesn’t truly register. She’s on a mission, using her magic to pull their tub –which is essentially a very, very large metal bucket– from its storage place in the corner.

She places Oaisara down gently within and uses the outdoor tap to run water into it. It is much too cold, though, and her aunt already shivers violently. Marjan closes her eyes, imagining her hands are red and warm with flame and plunges them into the chill liquid. And if she has anymore healing left within her, she funnels it into the water as well.

The liquid changes temperature surprisingly quick, going lukewarm. Marjan peeks open one eye, finding the water swirls with gold and her hands are as metal pulled straight from a blacksmith’s forge.

She jerks them from the water, worried she might boil or burn Oaisara.

A thought has the tap cutting off when the tub is full enough, and Marjan remains kneeling, supporting her aunt’s head with hands having lost their fiery colour so she does not slip beneath the water’s surface. The ailing magician mumbles incoherently.

The apprentice jumps when a hand suddenly settles on her shoulder, then a little extra weight as something slithers onto her and curls loosely around her neck. She looks up; Asra watches her and Oaisara in worry, their brows drawn together.

“It is the fever again,” Marjan murmurs, eyes prickling with tears. “Worse than it has ever been. I… I was not looking after her today as well as I should have been. I should have checked on her earlier. Should not have let her run off and party the night away.”

They squeeze her shoulder. It is a small comfort.

“Can I do anything?” they ask.

Marjan sniffles, rubbing at her eyes with her free hand. “There is a doctor in South End –Doctor Devorak. Will you bring him, please?”

“Of course.” Asra’s voice is gentle. “I’ll be right back, and Faust will keep you company.”

“Thank you, Asra.”

Marjan listens as their footsteps fade away, as the bells on the front door chime as they open and close the door. Then there is nothing but the gentle hissing of Faust as she brushes her smooth head against Marjan’s cheek and Oaisara’s mumbling.

“…th…ere… lull… not… long… a few years, maybe… Drop in the street… red. Red. Red.” She mutters the word red over and over again until a long, long sigh leaves her, and she falls silent.

Marjan takes her pulse, watches her chest, to make sure she’s still breathing.

In the silence, the apprentice’s thoughts bubble up unheedingly, threatening to swallow her whole. What if this is it: Oaisara’s end? What is she supposed to do? Just thinking about the dear lady drawing her last breath has her heart racing with panic and tears dripping down her nose to plop into the lukewarm water.

They’ve never discussed what Marjan is to do if Oaisara passes. It has never come up –they never speak of the sickness that comes and goes in waves. They treat it and keep living, but they should have discussed it. They should have been preparing, communicating better. Marjan should have been paying more attention.

All she wants is for Oaisara to come back to herself, for the fever to fade. They can go back to training, to living side-by-side. And she really will make her rest! She’ll tie her down if she has to. She’ll put all her magic and might into a cure, into making her whole.

But isn’t that already what she’s been doing?

_Why can’t I heal her? I’ve… I’ve been able to do everything else! Impossible things!_

It terrifies her if there truly is a sickness beyond magic.

“You’re… you’re going to get better,” she tells Oaisara in their native tongue. “You’re going to wake up. I’m going to take better care of you, pay more attention to you and your lessons. I’m going to learn everything I can, and I _will_ heal you. You’ll live another twenty years or more, and when you go, it won’t be like this.”

Faust’s tongue tickles at Marjan’s nose and cheeks. The apprentice pets her gently, trying to take comfort in the sweet, little kisses. She closes her eyes, focusing every mite of her magic on Oaisara.

* * *

Marjan doesn’t hear it when Asra returns. She doesn’t hear much of anything. There’s a roar in her head, blocking out even the music and fireworks of the Masquerade still raging despite her. She does feel the hands on her, however, urging her to her feet. Her legs are stiff and wobbly as she rises, barely wanting to work. She has to lean into… Asra. Yes, it’s Asra keeping her upright. And the auburn-haired gent she sees through bleary, burning eyes is Doctor Devorak. He scoops her aunt up from the tub, not even bothering to roll up his sleeves to keep them from getting sopping wet.

She is led inside the shop, made to sit down and wait while the good doctor spirits Oaisara upstairs. Asra closes the windows, and with each one shut, the noise of the outside world seems softer and softer until there is only the stagnant silence of the shop. Then the magician comes to sit beside her. Faust leaves her shoulders in favour of her master’s.

They don’t try to comfort or coddle or tell her it is going to be alright; they simply sit with her. It is enough.

Hours might pass. Perhaps it is mere minutes. Marjan cannot properly perceive time she’s so numb and tired. But a hand lights on her shoulder, stirring her from her silent staring at her hands. Julian towers over her, shirt damp and sticking to his chest; hair in a state.

“She’s awake. Stable,” he tells her in her native tongue, and it is a great comfort. As is the news. “I…I wish I could tell you more. Something good. But honestly, Marjan, I do not know what causes these spells of hers.”

“I know you’ve done what you can, and I’m grateful,” says the apprentice, rising to her feet. She bows at the waist. “Thank you, truly. Give me a moment, and we can settle up-.”

“We don’t have to even think about that right now,” the doctor says, waving a dismissive hand. “Go see her. She’s already asked after you multiple times.”

Marjan expresses her gratitude once more before hurrying up the stairs.

They seem abnormally steep, longer than they’re supposed to be. It takes Marjan an eternity to climb them and years for her to part the colourful curtains serving as the door. She’s scared to see Oaisara. She doesn’t want to see her looking drained and sickly. It clashes with the strong woman she holds in her head and heart. Makes her want to sob.

Selfish of her, she knows.

Marjan parts the curtains, finding her aunt sitting up in their bed. The covers appear sodden; her salt-and-pepper hair damp. She’s pallid, but her pale-silver eyes are awake and aware with no hint of the confusion the fever had brought on.

“I can’t hear the Masquerade,” Oaisara says, head craning to look out the window their bed is pushed against.

“I think Asra warded out the noise,” Marjan informs, approaching the bed slowly and sitting down carefully. It is indeed damp.

Oaisara looks to her with a raised brow, reading of pure mischief. “Oh? They’re still hanging around?”

It is a look Marjan ignores. “They helped me run the shop today –and fetched Doctor Devorak when you… weren’t doing too well.”

“Sweet of them,” Oaisara comments softly. She sighs. “I woke up hours earlier, feeling it creeping up on me, but I ignored it. Went back to sleep. But that sleep… I had such vivid dreams, Marjan, but now I can’t remember a single one of them. I just vaguely remember you dunking me in the bathtub.”

“You… you should have called for me, Oaisara,” Marjan’s voice is thin. Rough. Her fingers curl in the loose fabric of her trousers. “The fever got out of hand –you could have died.”

“I am going to die,” the magician says, her smooth voice carrying a note of finality. “We can keep pushing it off, but it is going to happen.”

“Oais-.”

Her aunt raises a hand. “And when it does, I don’t want you blaming yourself. I see your face, darling, I see that guilt. But it’s beyond your control. I’m nearly eighty –I’m getting old. And I don’t mind it. It’s what happens. I… I want to make sure you’re properly prepared before then. There are still so many tricks of the trade I want to teach you, and when I go, I want… well, if _you_ want it, I want you to have the shop.”

Marjan blinks, not knowing what to say. Oaisara has never sounded so serious. And she never expected to hear the magic shop was hers if she wanted it.

Does she want it?

“I don’t want to think about it right now, Oaisara,” Marjan whispers, eyes screwing shut. “I want you better.”

A thin hand grabs hold of Marjan’s. The grip isn’t as strong as she’s used to, and it turns her stomach.

“Did you pay the doctor?” Oaisara asks. Marjan’s never been more relieved for a change in subject.

“He won’t let me.”

She grumbles about what a difficult man he is. “Julian!” she calls down the stairs, voice as powerful and commanding as ever.

Marjan is certain she hears the man jump, and it brings a smile to her face.

“Let my niece pay you!”

“Oh? What’s that? I’m sorry, I can’t quite here you.” The chimes of the front door tinkle softly. “I’ve got one foot out the door, Oaisara. We’ll have to talk later.”

“Slippery littl-!”

The door shuts, and all Marjan hears is Asra’s laughter floating up the stairs to join her own.

* * *

Oaisara invites Asra to stay for dinner, and they accept without much cajoling. It does, however, take an exorbitant amount of threatening and shooing to get the recovering magician to stay in bed and let Marjan handle the cooking. And oh, how Oaisara complains, grumbling in discontent the entire time it takes her niece to make and serve the beef curry and dhal.

And once it’s done, Marjan has to jump down Oaisara’s throat, telling the woman she is to stay in bed to eat. She will bring her food. She will handle the cleanup. Won’t she please just rest?

Asra seems to enjoy their bickering back and forth. They don’t say a word, simply watching them in amusement as they have one helping, then another, mopping up what’s left of their curry with naan.

Oaisara draws the line on Marjan’s coddling when the apprentice tries to help her to the washroom, swatting at her niece when she gets close.

“I really will get old and atrophy if you keep this up,” the magician gripes, shaking her head as she shuffles into the washroom. Before she shuts herself in, she looks to the white-haired youth at the table. “Asra, _sayiya,_ why don’t you stay the night? …Or did you plan to go to the Masquerade?”

They shake their fluffy head. “I’ve had enough excitement until at least tomorrow, so I think I will.”

Oaisara dawns a positively pleased grin, making Marjan uneasy. Especially when her pale gaze lands on her. “ _Gangta,_ help them get situated downstairs.”

The apprentice makes a face at the name. She’s not a nuisance, a bother; she’s worried.

She doesn’t indulge her aunt with a response. Instead, she rises smoothly to her feet and motions for Asra to follow.

They skip down the staircase behind her, asking her what _“sayiya”_ and _“gangta”_ mean.

“She called you ‘darling’ and me ‘nuisance’,” Marjan grumbles. “I… She is my family. I love her. Today felt… today felt too close, and I know I might be a little overbearing, but I am scared.”

Asra pats her shoulder, assuring her in a gentle tone Oaisara is one of the toughest people they know. She’ll be fine, and so will Marjan.

She cuts them a small smile over her shoulder as she steps off the staircase, making towards a small closet where there are extra blankets. “You are sweet. …Thank you, Asra. …You helped me greatly today. It has barely been a day I have known you, but I… I feel exceptionally lucky to have met you.”

The magician is silent; Marjan gathers up an armful of pillows and fluffy throws, turning to find them with a light blush staining their cheeks. But it breaks into an easy grin, and they take the mound of comfort from her.

“You know, I think I’m lucky to have met you, too,” they say, their tone cool and smooth. Playful. “It’s a premonition I’m having.”

Marjan beams at them. “You should listen to those. Your seventh sense will never steer you wrong.”

They cock a brow at her. “Are those words of wisdom from a master magician?”

The apprentice nods. “I will tell you like Oaisara told me.” And she takes their face in her hands, smooshing their cheeks as was done to her. “Listen to your magic. Listen. To. Your. Magic. _Listen to your magic. Sayiya,_ you could be fantastic.”

Asra laughs, their cheeks reddening from either the smooshing or embarrassment.

And Marjan is delighted she can make them blush as they have done to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Sayiya- a term of endearment, such as darling  
> Gangta- nuisance; bother


End file.
